


Ritual (23): It's Beyond My Control

by mystery_sock (terebi_me)



Series: Ritual [22]
Category: Heroes (TV 2006)
Genre: Boys Kissing, Comedy, Explicit Sexual Content, Hormones, Horny Teenagers, Lust, M/M, Movie Night, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Petrellicest, Power Dynamics, Seduction, Shameless Smut, So Wrong It's Right, Sorry Not Sorry, Teen Angst, Top Peter Petrelli
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-18
Updated: 2021-01-18
Packaged: 2021-03-16 06:28:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28826718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/terebi_me/pseuds/mystery_sock
Summary: Fall break arc, begun in the previous stories Ritual (21) and Ritual (22) continues... An evening's lighthearted fun with Nathan and teenaged Peter, alone in the house, watching "Dangerous Liaisons," takes a startling, but inevitable turn.
Relationships: Nathan Petrelli/Peter Petrelli
Series: Ritual [22]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1321937
Kudos: 1





	Ritual (23): It's Beyond My Control

_TEN YEARS BEFORE THE ECLIPSE...  
  
I didn't know what was happening to me. And it was only when I began to feel actual, physical pain every time you left the room that it dawned on me: I was in love, for the first time in my life.   
I knew it was hopeless, but that didn't matter to me. - Vicomte de Valmont_  
  
Peter woke on Wednesday morning to a cold, rainy, blustery day outside, which just made him burrow further under the covers and refuse to get up. He didn't have to get up - he was on break, with no school and absolutely no obligations today. If he wanted to, he could spend the whole day in bed, denying the existence of the outside world.  
  
Unfortunately, he had gotten plenty of sleep once he'd actually slept... around 3:30 a.m., if he remembered the last glance at the digital clock as he'd climbed exhausted and freshly showered into bed. It had been a hell of a night before that - he was sure he'd gotten blisters both on his hand _and_ on his dick, and he'd lain on spunk-soaked sheets for hours, because he knew that if he changed the sheets, he'd just have to do it again later. Finally he got up - staggering a little from exhaustion - and changed the sheets and gone to take a shower, and did himself again standing under the water, even though it hurt like he was pulling off his skin.   
  
Seven hours. It was a new record. He'd lost track of how many times he'd come after he hit the high twenties.   
  
He was a sick, dangerous, degenerate pervert.  
  
He couldn't just lie there now, ravenously hungry and jonesing for coffee, so he got out of bed and got dressed. There were no blisters, but he was pretty sore. Instead of combing his hair, he just put on a stocking cap and went downstairs. The cook had left a note instead of breakfast, informing him there were sandwich fixings in the fridge, and that he should call her if he wanted her to come and fix him and Nathan dinner that night.  
  
Peter crumpled the note and threw it against the wall.  
  
He went instead to the newsstand at the end of the block, ordered a coffee, an egg cream, a cheese danish, a banana-nut muffin with peanut butter, and a cinnamon roll. He took over a small round table next to the window, stuffed his face, and thought about what happened last night.  
  
So he'd surprised Nathan at work, which pissed Nathan off. No big shocker there. Nathan was too much of a control freak about his work to be comfortable with having someone just show up. Okay, so Peter got that. But then Nathan's co-workers had been incredibly nice, and let Nathan leave early. And then they went back to Peter's house and then Peter gave Nathan a totally friendly kiss, and Nathan had slapped him away like Peter had burnt him. Peter did _not_ get that. That kiss was nothing. So he wasn't allowed to kiss Nathan anymore, no matter what? Was he that dangerous all of a sudden?  
  
But then again, Nathan took Peter back to his place, saying he was going to give Peter porno videos to borrow. Peter was curious about what kind of porn Nathan liked, so he agreed to borrow some tapes, even though Peter could get whatever porn he wanted really easily through some guys he knew at school. So he went back to Nathan's, and then Nathan actually started _showing_ Peter the porn, while Peter was sitting there. God! That sucked. Peter was _not_ into porn as a spectator sport. If you were watching porn with someone, that meant that you knew there'd be sexual feelings, and that it was okay to act on them. So he thought - for a fleeting, precious, thrilling second - that Nathan was going to watch porn with him, and then get they'd get turned on, and then take care of each other. But no... Nathan just stood there and watched Peter watch the videos.   
  
And the videos were first boring, then alienating. He just couldn't get into them, not with Nathan staring at him, as it waiting for Peter to say something about how great or how hot or nasty the videos were. During the second video, Peter mostly watched Nathan's boner growing in the basket of his pants, and _that's_ what Peter was interested in; that's what Peter wanted to see. That would be erotic. He just wanted to see Nathan's cock. It wouldn't be porn-star huge, or have all the hair shaven (Peter didn't think so, anyway), but Peter knew it was beautiful.  
  
So last night in bed, in his mind, Peter replayed the porn he'd just watched, but putting Nathan in the place of the men, and himself in the place of the women. First his mind had just flickered onto that, but then he couldn't stop. He wanted to be bent over a couch. He wanted his legs scissored open and Nathan's cock pounding hard into him. He wanted Nathan to fingerfuck him deep and then make him taste it. (And God, what a filthy thought that was. It wasn't the same hole. But... oh, he would, if Nathan made him. He'd do it and he'd love it.) Peter couldn't believe himself. The more he was horrified, the more he couldn't stop trying to work it out of himself, exhaust himself. It didn't work. Seven hours' worth, and it didn't work.  
  
He was sick.  
  
And he was a liar. Peter had told Nathan yesterday that his grade-point average was 3.5, when it was actually more like 2.8. He wasn't flunking out, but he was straddling the line of acceptability - if he failed one more test, the school would tell his parents. All his plans for the school year were backfiring nastily. He had been telling his parents that he was being tutored and going to study groups, when he had actually been seeing his girl friends, going to their homes and playing with their bodies. Learning about girls and the female sexual response, testing it against his own. This school year, he had had intercourse nineteen times, fellatio twenty, cunnilingus eleven; he had passed nine out of twelve class tests, none with a score higher than 80. Peter's parents had no idea; the school hadn't spoken to them, and they didn't actually pay attention to Peter's report cards. And Nathan didn't know, because he trusted Peter and thought Peter was smart. Peter had lied out of reflex. He lied because he hoped that somehow Nathan would know the truth - about everything.  
  
School just didn't seem to matter as much as the relentless drive toward sexual experience. Peter really, really needed to know what it was like, how many different dimensions could it hold, what he was capable of. He had so many questions about sex, so many experiments he wanted to try. There were so many experiments he wanted to try with Nathan, whose body and responses Peter would like to learn.   
  
But that wasn't going to happen. (It shouldn't.) Nathan really, really didn't want it to. And yet, Peter just lost all his promises to himself, all his promises to Nathan that he'd be good, as soon as he was in Nathan's arms. They didn't even have to kiss. Last night, in the front hall, by the coat closet. Nathan just hugged Peter and apologized for how bad and weird the whole evening had been, and Peter had gotted excited - had been excited, had been aching so badly, he just pressed into Nathan, seeking comfort. And it was so beautiful sizzling urgent and Nathan whispered "Yes," so into it, loving it. Maybe... maybe Nathan would let him experiment if he asked... if it was just play, just science, just fun. Hot little kisses and mysterious tastes and does this feel as good for you. Nathan didn't have to know about the rest... the feelings Peter didn't have words for. About the feelings he shouldn't have.  
  
Peter got sick of being trapped in his thoughts, and he didn't want to drink any more coffee. He went home and sat in the window seat with the cordless phone, and made several phone calls. Jasmine, Sara B., Sarah K., Chelsea, Gretchen, Krystin. His fellow scientists, his comrades in naked experimentation. All of them were out of town, because it was fall break, and their parents had money, and they were traveling. And he wasn't exactly friends with the girls, so they hadn't bothered to tell him that they'd be gone for the break.  
  
He had to do something; he couldn't just sit in the house by himself all day, and he'd won all his video games so many times now that he didn't feel like wasting hours playing them some more. He dug his class guide out of a drawer in his mother's little office, and found the number of the one guy in his class that he absolutely knew for certain was gay. Peter called him, and reached him, and asked him if he wanted to go see a movie that afternoon.  
  
Surprising Peter, because the gay guy wasn't exactly known for being friendly, he said yes. He wanted to see _The Island of Dr. Moreau_ , the remake that had just come out. He told Peter that it had Marlon Brando, and Peter thought of how _Apocalypse Now_ was like Nathan's favorite movie besides _The Godfather_ , and how both of them had Marlon Brando in them, and said yeah, he'd be into that.  
  
The weather was so bad Peter took a taxi downtown to Times Square, and met his classmate, Ernie, at the theater. Peter gave Ernie a good look, trying to find something in him that he was attracted to, but Ernie was just really tall and shaped like a refrigerator and wore ugly glasses and had a buzz cut. And he didn't seem that thrilled to see Peter, or the movie.  
  
Peter sat in the darkness of the theater, not paying attention to the movie after about twenty minutes, and thought about Nathan instead. He wished Nathan had kissed him last night, but at the same time he was grateful. If they had kissed, Peter wouldn't have been able to control himself at all. He had felt the thick, hard ridge of Nathan's erection between their clothes, and had been careful not to touch it with his own dick for as long as he could. And then he'd given in and let them brush together, and felt like a crackle of electricity had passed between them, striking like lightning into his balls and his guts, and Peter realized too late that he had an orgasm. He felt a sudden surge of creamy-wet stickiness in his shorts, and he had to run away before Nathan noticed. Kind of hating Nathan, for making it so that Peter had to run away. If only he could have just shared it with Nathan, laughed at himself, turned it into something fun instead of something shameful and awful. It wasn't shameful or awful; only thinking made it so. The act in and of itself wasn't shameful. It was what it _meant_. And if they wanted to - if Nathan was willing - they could change the meaning.   
  
But Nathan would never, ever be willing, would he?  
  
After the movie, Ernie and Peter stood around in the lobby uncomfortably, not looking at each other. "Oh well," said Ernie, "that sucked. It's too bad; David Thewlis was really good in _Total Eclipse._ Well, anyway. I guess I'll see you at school on Monday."  
  
"Yeah," said Peter dully. "See you at school."  
  
Peter went home. The answering machine had three messages on it, one from his mother checking in, and two from Nathan, both asking Peter to call him back. Peter deleted them all and went upstairs to the TV room, and played Tekken 2 some more, playing all the characters he totally hated to play. Still, it allowed him to empty his mind for a while.  
  
Some time later the phone rang. Peter paused the game and answered the phone. "Petrelli residence," he said.  
  
"Peter, what the fuck?"  
  
"Hi, Nathan."  
  
Nathan yelled, "It's half-past seven! I was worried! Didn't you get my messages?"  
  
"Oh, yeah, sorry," said Peter disinterestedly.  
  
"Don't do that to me. I was expecting - well, never mind. What do you want to do for dinner?"  
  
"I'm fine," Peter replied. "I had a big breakfast... there's sandwitchy things in the fridge. I figured I'd just have that. You don't have to come over."  
  
There was silence on the phone line. Peter could hear activity on the other end, so he knew Nathan hadn't hung up. Peter really wanted Nathan to yell at him some more, lecture him about being an irresponsible, selfish little shit, and then tell him they were going out for pizza and ice cream again, and then back to Nathan's for some drinks and more exploration of his porno collection. But Nathan didn't say anything. Peter sighed. "All right," Nathan said at last. "See you later."   
  
Peter put the phone back on the receiver, then stood there, staring into the semidarkness of the hall. The empty house was so quiet Peter could hear electricity in the walls, and the swish and throb of his own pulse. After a moment he went back to the TV room and sat down, but didn't resume the game.   
  
Momentarily, the phone rang again.  
  
Peter answered, "Sorry."  
  
"No - hey." Nathan sighed this time. "Tomorrow night?" he said. "Let's have dinner at the house, and we'll watch a movie. Let's watch _Dangerous Liasons._ You liked that movie, didn't you, Pete?"  
  
"Yeah, totally." Peter didn't remember it all that well (he'd been maybe nine or ten when he'd last seen it), except that almost everybody wore wigs, traveled by horse and carriage, and Uma Thurman had her top off. He'd be willing to watch that any time.  
  
"I'm in the mood to watch that. So I'll bring over that, and is there anything else you want to see?"  
  
Peter laughed, and almost told Nathan the exact truth. "We can just watch TV after that," he said, "and have cocoa with marshmallows."  
  
Nathan laughed too, softly, intimately. "Sure, Pete, sounds good," he said. "We'll have whatever you want for dinner - we'll even order out, if you want."  
  
"Sounds good to me, too," said Peter.  
  
It was sick how much better he felt now. Like everything was going to be just fine now. Nathan and cocoa with marshmallows, and Uma Thurman topless, and Nathan, and him, on the couch... maybe everything would be just fine.  
  
***  
  
Nathan arrived while the clock was striking six. He let himself in and Peter ran down to the foyer to greet him. "Hey, Pete," Nathan said happily. "Here, take the ice cream. I got you a quart of the Black-Forest Brownie. Chocolate _and_ cherries."  
  
Peter grinned at Nathan, took the paper bag from Nathan's fingers, and watched him take his coat off. Such grace. He was wearing a dark-blue, striped button-down shirt that made his ruddy-gold skin glow. He always had a fairly nice tan, even in winter; he never got milky-pale the way Peter did. His jaw wore a faint sheen of stubble with the scars marked out in pale-pink, meandering lines. Peter wished he could remember what he looked like without the scars, but they were part of him now, part of that beauty. Nathan asked, "So what's for dinner?"  
  
"I ordered out for szechuan," Peter said. "Should be here any minute."  
  
"I don't know if that goes with ice cream," said Nathan.  
  
"Everything goes with ice cream," Peter said. "Especially hot chocolate. That's probably what you were thinking of." He walked to the kitchen, with Nathan following him, and stuck the ice cream in the freezer. He turned then, and saw Nathan holding out his arms for a hug, and he went to him and gave it. So nice, warm, friendly. Peter actually laughed to himself. "I missed you," he admitted.  
  
"You saw me day before yesterday," Nathan teased, moving out of the hug and lightly chucking Peter's chin with his knuckle.  
  
Peter grinned back. "But not yesterday."  
  
"Yeah, what was up with that?" Nathan wanted to know, turning back to the sound of the door buzzer. He got their delivery and paid in cash, and he carried the food back to the kitchen. "What was up with you yesterday?"  
  
They drew up stools to kitchen counter, and ate out of the cartons with chopsticks. Peter grabbed and chewed a few mouthfuls before answering. "Just a really bad day," he said. "I got up really late and then went with this guy from my class to see _The Island of Dr. Moreau._ Which sucked a dog's dick."  
  
Nathan laughed in the middle of a bite, but didn't choke, spew, or spit; he was able to laugh and chew and swallow all at the same time. "That's one way of putting it. I know it did," he replied. "Why'd you go see that?"  
  
"Because it has Marlon Brando in it."  
  
"Oh, God. That's no guarantee. I could have told you that it sucked; I saw it last month. My ex-girlfriend Patricia works for New Line and we went to an advance screening. I walked out. I think we broke up after that." They laughed. "Yeah, if you'd called to talk to me, I could have saved you the trouble."  
  
Peter felt his face closing up, like a flower shriveling. "I didn't feel like talking to you yesterday," he said. Nathan looked away and smiled uncertainly, but didn't reply. A silence rose up and threatened to smother all the happiness and comfort out of the room, so Peter forced himself to smile and say cheerfully, "Hey, can I have a glass of wine?"  
  
Nathan snickered. "You're such an opportunist," Nathan said. "What the hell. I'll have one, too."  
  
The wine Nathan picked went great with the spicy food, and in no time, the bottle was empty. Peter ate until he was almost full, then he took a little break to make Nathan some coffee and himself a hot cocoa - well, half of one, anyway. The other half of the cup, he topped off with coffee before tossing in a handful of marshmallows. "Do you want a marshmallow in your coffee, Nathan?" he asked, using his little-boy voice, complete with the lisp he'd lost by the time he was seven.  
  
It was a magic voice; it had an eerie effect on both Peter's mother, and on Nathan. For Peter's mother, it was a quick way to get her to stop sniping at him for a minute; and it made Nathan go suddenly wide-eyed, lost-looking, like he was being hypnotized. Peter knew the voice was a terrible, powerful weapon that he mustn't use too often, or it would lose its impact. He wasn't sure why he'd done it just then; what was he trying to do to Nathan? And instead of sounding like a little boy, he just sounded like a total queer.  
  
Still, Nathan now gazed into the middle distance, then shook his head and blinked. "No," he said, then slowly smiled at Peter. "I'll put ice cream in my coffee."  
  
"Ooh," said Peter, in his normal voice. But it still didn't sound normal to him. It sounded deeper than usual. "I like it." He raised his cup to his lips and gazed at Nathan over the puffy cloud of marshmallows rising from the top. He burned his lips on the hot liquid and jerked away with a hiss. "Ah!" he said. "Warning: coffee may be hot."  
  
"Mine isn't," said Nathan. "Put some ice cream in it." His eyes focused on Peter's lips, and Peter self-consciously licked them, wondering if he had a cocoa mustache. Nathan kept staring. There was no cocoa mustache. Peter smiled. Nathan smiled a little, too.  
  
Upstairs, in the TV room, they sat beside each other on the long sofa and let the movie play over them. All the lights in the whole house were off except for nightlights in the bathrooms, and the TV cast a pleasant pale glow into the room. Peter liked how the movie looked and it was nice that all the actors were using their normal accents - he hated fake accents in movies - but there was too much talking for Peter's state of mind. The wine coursed warmly through his veins, making him feel heavy-headed, but giddy. He let his head slump over onto Nathan's shoulder.  
  
Nathan wrapped his arm around Peter's neck and angled Peter's head even further sideways, scrubbing his knuckles into Peter's skull. "Hey, frisky," Nathan muttered cheerfully. "Sit up and submit to Malkovich."  
  
"When does Uma Thurman get naked?" Peter asked.  
  
"It happens; just be patient."  
  
"I don't wanna submit to Malkovich. He's not fuckable. Who would fuck him?"  
  
Nathan laughed. His arm was still around Peter's neck, and he gave him a squeeze, and a kiss on the sore spot on the top of Peter's head. "Every woman I know," Nathan answered.  
  
"Women are idiots."  
  
Nathan kept laughing. "Spoken like a true feminist," he said.  
  
Peter shut up for a while and tried to watch the movie. He felt like he had missed too much already, and he privately resolved to just go read the book, because he knew there was a book of the movie. Uma Thurman remained stubbornly clothed.   
  
Peter watched Nathan instead, the images flickering on his eyes, the dark butterfly fringe of his eyelashes, the twist of his slightly parted mouth, the scars standing out on his skin. Collar button and top button undone. A little chest hair visible. Sleeves unbuttoned and rolled up to the forearm - well, one of them, anyway. The other had fallen loose, disturbed by Nathan putting his arm around Peter's neck. The cuff button hung askew. Peter stared at it. Loose thread, the end sticking out. It was the most compelling thing in the world. He reached out and plucked at the thread.  
  
"What are you doing? God," Nathan complained, lightly slapping Peter's hand away.  
  
If he'd been looking, Nathan would have recognized the look on Peter's face - gleaming grin, eyebrows drawn together, a glint in the eye - and probably put a stop to it. But Nathan was watching the movie. Peter slowly reached for the thread again. The button was coming loose! He couldn't leave it alone. Just couldn't.  
  
Nathan smacked his hand again, harder this time. Peter giggled faintly. Nathan aggressively paid attention to the TV screen. Peter tried reaching around behind Nathan's head, sliding his hand like a silent snake across the back of the couch, reaching, slowly and painstakingly reaching -  
  
"All right, you little turd," Nathan said, abruptly and blurringly in motion; Peter watched in delight as the button flew off his sleeve, and then felt a hard, sick, dizzy thump as he hit the floor with Nathan on top of him. "You wanna grapple?" Nathan swiftly immobilized Peter's arms and legs and pinned his shoulder blades to the surface of the carpet. Peter sucked in his breath, a little freaked out but mostly just very excited, and tried to remember everything that he knew from wrestling. He managed to get one of his legs free, hook it around Nathan's hips, and break Nathan's balance. _Good one,_ Peter congratulated himself for a split second. Nathan quickly caught his fall with the palm of an outstretched hand, and just as quickly, swept Peter's legs together and trapped them between his knees. He laughed, panting, into Peter's face. "We'll grapple." Peter couldn't move his body at all, just his toes and fingers. He laughed back at Nathan, thrilled to be in his presence - Nathan was a really, really good wrestler; he had trophies and everything. But he had never wrestled Peter before. Peter hadn't been big enough to hold his own. Peter had become a wrestler because Nathan had been. Football, too. Peter sucked at both. But maybe he'd get better as he got bigger. Now that he was bigger, stronger, he had a chance.  
  
He watched as Nathan's face got closer. Closer. Nathan's lips on his. The scent of the coffee on his breath. The wine, too. And the ice cream. Peter wanted to drink the intoxicating breath, get drunk on it. He inhaled sharply with his mouth open on Nathan's. _Breathe into me._ Nathan inhaled too, stealing his breath back, and Peter had to break the kiss or risk passing out.   
  
Nathan brought the kiss back. More. Now his tongue slid into Peter's mouth, and Peter writhed helplessly, as best he could against Nathan's hold. Nathan let Peter's legs free, but kept his hands on Peter's wrists, pinning them at his shoulders, arms bent. If Peter struggled, it would hurt like fire in his shoulder and elbow joints. Nathan licked all around inside Peter's mouth as though searching for something. Peter felt dizzy again, and he arched his hips up, moaning a little in the back of his throat.  
  
For just a second, Nathan let Peter's arms free, and broke the kiss apart. Peter gratefully gulped oxygen and flexed his sore arms. Before he could throw his arms around Nathan and hug him, though, Nathan had flipped Peter over using his knee against Peter's hips, and pinned him again, this time face down, arms wrenched behind his back, his pelvis trapped underneath Nathan's crossed leg. None of this hurt except for the slight rug burn on Peter's elbows and forehead. Peter burrowed his face into the low pile of the carpet, grateful for the first time for the obsessive cleanliness of the housekeeper, and tested the strength of Nathan's hold. He was so much stronger than he looked, completely immobilizing Peter. Showing off. He had all these techniques. He could make Peter keep still and submit in so many ways.  
  
Nathan nuzzled the back of Peter's neck, then bit into it hard - hard enough for it to hurt. But not too much; just enough to get Peter's attention and make him cry out a little. Nathan rose up, drawing his face away from Peter's neck, and as he drew his hips forward, firmly driving the hard, hot, thick knob of his cock against Peter's ass, he whispered something so quietly Peter could only understand it as he felt the vibrations transmitted where their bodies were joined together.  
  
" _You're mine._ "  
  
Peter moaned, the low groan ending in a desperate squeak. Nathan groaned, too, and bit Peter's neck again, bumping his erection against the rounded swell of Peter's buttocks again... and again. He wasn't going to stop, Peter realized. Nathan yanked Peter's arms up above his head, pulling them out straight, because it was easier to hump him that way. Peter answered every touch with a sound. Nathan bit him again, really hard this time, as if he were angry. Peter didn't care if he was, as long as he _just didn't stop._  
  
There was all kinds of yelling and chaos happening in the movie at that moment. Peter moaned louder, competing with it. He gradually realized that Nathan was moaning, too, every time his cock dug into the soft, sensitive flesh under Peter's clothes. Oh, so many layers of clothing between them. Peter wished it would all just vanish. But Nathan wouldn't even let his hands go so that he could undress them. Why wouldn't Nathan want Peter to undress them? This would be so much nicer naked, even if his poor sore cock would get rubbed completely raw against the carpet. (Oh, God, it hurt. It was so hard, and so sore on the surface, bruised almost, that the pressure of Nathan on top of him, and the inseam of his track pants, shoving him down hard into the floor, made him want to scream.) If Nathan would just let his wrists go, Peter could undress them, and then he could get on top, and he had no idea how that worked, but he was sure he could figure it out.  
  
"Oh, fuck... ahhh," Nathan breathed.  
  
Peter replied in a moan. He arched his body back underneath Nathan, spreading his legs; Nathan drove into that space and bit him again, less hard, but in the same spot, and it hurt and was luscious. How weird that being bitten like that felt so good. None of Peter's girls were biters. He might have to find one.  
  
 _No, no. Let that be Nathan's._  
  
It was happening. It was happening and Peter couldn't control it. The spasm in his lower abdomen, the grateful twitch of his dick as it filled and responded, the electricity that danced through every nerve in his body. He groaned, "Nathan!", because there was nothing else to say, nothing else good enough. Everything he felt, everything he wanted to say. "Nathan!"  
  
Nathan just breathed on the hot, tingly spot on Peter's neck, relaxed, let Peter's wrists go. His body peeled off, and he sat back on his heels, slowing and calming his breathing. Peter felt cold, but good - wonderful. Giddy. Worked out. Flexible, like he'd just been doing yoga. But mostly cold. And wet.  
  
"Oh, no...!"  
  
Peter slowly turned over, and looked down at himself. It looked like he'd lost a fight with a bottle of heavy cream - semen stained him from mid-abdomen to crotch, and the head of his dick was still peeking above his waistband, glistening wet, seemingly laughing at him. And where Peter had been pinned, a long pale streak marred the tapestry-like surface of the carpet.  
  
Nathan's face had turned dark purple, and a vein had popped out on his forehead. "Fuck! Look what you did! Dammit, Peter! Clean this up! Right now!"  
  
Peter lay there paralyzed with fear and panic for a second before he could move. Nathan kept screaming, even as Peter jumped up and went running for the nearest bathroom. "Get a damp towel - just water, don't try to put bleach or anything else on it. Oh, shit. Look at this. Do you know how much this carpet cost, Peter? Do you have any idea?"  
  
"No - I'm sorry - I'm sorry!" Peter yelled back, running in with the wet towel and his shirt off. "It was an accident, for God's sake! I didn't mean to!"  
  
Nathan stood up, his hand to his head, and left the room, still muttering to himself. Peter sank down to his knees on the carpet and dabbed sadly at the stain, which really didn't seem that bad to him. Maybe because he didn't know anything about anything. Because he was a stupid fuckup of a perverted slut, and all he was good for was making otherwise good people screw up and waste their time.  
  
 _No... I have to be better than that. I'm a Petrelli. I am good for something._  
  
Somehow, the movie was still going on. It was almost the end, though. Peter watched and dabbed at the carpet; Madame de Merteuil sat in her dressing room, taking off her makeup and staring at herself in the mirror. Peter suddenly remembered the entire movie. He decided that he wouldn't cry, even though Nathan hated him now, even though he was a perverted slut, because that had just been so good. Delicious. Something new and wonderful, something he wanted, another step, another dimension.  
  
It hurt and it was good. Yes, he'd remember this.  
  
He looked up, and saw Nathan was back. He couldn't be sure in the darkness, but it looked like he was wearing different trousers than before. Peter blinked at him. "I think I got most of it up," he said in his usual tone of voice. Like moments before he hadn't been... they hadn't been... He looked down at the carpet. Now it just looked wet.  
  
"Give me a hand," Nathan said, normally.  
  
God, they were so normal.  
  
Together they moved the couch, then the carpet, then the couch again, then the carpet again, so that the wet spot was now underneath the couch. The newly exposed part looked exactly like the rest - God bless that obsessive housekeeper. Peter decided that he would give her an extra $50 from his allowance as a private Christmas bonus. He looked up at Nathan and gave him the most rational smile he could muster.  
  
"See you tomorrow?" he asked, clear-eyed.  
  
Nathan stared at him for a moment, then slowly smiled. "I'll call you," he replied.  
  
"You do that," Peter replied.  
  
His voice really was deeper. Nice.

**Author's Note:**

> [original posting note] Coming of age, indeed!... Wow, this turned out a bit more filthy than I thought. Oh well, might as well have fun! At this point, Peter doesn't understand the power that he wields over Nathan; in fact, it takes him a long time to figure that out. Once he knows it (around "A&T&FYSS"), their relationship becomes more balanced, except when Nathan is freaking out and has to destroy the balance just to feel like he has some power over something... poor dear. Apologies to anyone who really likes The Island of Dr. Moreau; to me it's a great weekend-bored-stoned-it's-on-cable camp classic. Dialogue from Dangerous Liaisons written by Christopher Hampton. Submit to Malkovich! (I would.)


End file.
